


Bound

by master_riku



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Dildos, Dom/sub, Feeling Safe, M/M, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Smut, Sora's Necklace, Submission, Top Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Vanitas Swears (Kingdom Hearts)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26904250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/master_riku/pseuds/master_riku
Summary: For the first time in his entire life, Vanitas is truly at someone's mercy; no keyblade, no unversed, no teleportation; no sly talking or screaming or shouting or pleading; no pride or humiliation he can suffer to escape.Sora stands in front of him and takes him in. He's exposed and vulnerable, pinned beneath the intensity of that stare.Submission.That's the only word for what this is.
Relationships: Sora/Vanitas (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this ages ago for a friend and keep forgetting to actually clean it up and post it. but here we are at last.

Submission.

That's the word for what this is.

That's what it means to be on his knees before Sora, stripped down and trussed up; his arms bent at the elbows behind him, pressed flush to his back and bound tight to each other while he clasps his forearms. His chest is already covered in a complex twisting of knots that he lost track of halfway through, in spite of his adrenaline-shot vigilance. This was in no small part due to Sora's distracting soft caresses and murmurs as he worked.

The position forces him to arch slightly, shoulders back--no slouching, no lounging. It's the posture of someone who's proud and unashamed and unafraid. Someone on display. Maybe he'll even live up to it; without his conscious effort, his head lifts up slightly to complete the look, taking on the bearing of that which he hopes to be.

Sora lays him down on his back gently, easing him to the ground with a little grin as the state of helplessness sinks into Vanitas's awareness anew. But he still doesn't speak. He's not been told to keep silent, but he doesn't have anything much to say that might be helpful. So he just draws a clean, if shaky, breath, and leans into the new way his restrained muscles shift and tense as he's moved, as his lungs fill and empty again, as Sora makes little adjustments.

The small, repetitive sensations feel all-encompassing in the relative stillness as Sora continues his work. The breathing is a calming exercise, like the kind Vanitas learned to do before battle. Grounding. His rhythm is interrupted only by the occasional slither of the silky rope across skin as a new area of tension joins the rest.

Vanitas's legs are tied up, too, inch by inch, ankle to ankle, knee to knee, then tucked underneath him as he's lifted back up into kneeling, just as carefully. There's not a millimetre of give in the rope that's almost bristling with enchantments.

For the first time in his entire life, Vanitas is truly at someone's mercy; no keyblade, no unversed, no teleportation; no sly talking or screaming or shouting or pleading; no pride or humiliation he can suffer to escape.

Sora stands in front of him and takes him in. He's exposed and vulnerable, pinned beneath the intensity of that stare.

Submission.

There's no physical way out of this. No way out at all, in fact, except trust that if he says one specific word, Sora will willingly let him go.

And that in itself is a terrifying thought--of all the people in all the realms he could be at the mercy of, it's Sora. Sora, with enough inky rage bubbling just under the surface to wipe out worlds. Sora, with a heart so strong it could sustain the souls of all his friends at once. Sora, with the will to cheat death itself.

Sora, with that look in his eyes, the one that makes the soft sky-blue turn sharper than Roxas's best glare, more fierce than Ventus's fire, more hungry than Riku diving into a nightmare. There's power in a look like that. A power more binding than that which had once tied Vanitas to his master. Xehanort would have coveted that power, too, if he could have ever understood it.

And in spite of that--maybe because of that, a little bit--Vanitas  _ does _ trust Sora.

Sora's gaze sharpens as if he can read Vanitas's thoughts, flashing like the glint of sunlight on a knife; not just intense but  _ dangerous, _ too.

Then he grins, a startling counterpoint to the stare, and all at once, Vanitas realises he's  _ beautiful. _

"Fuck," he finds himself muttering.

"Not quite, but good try," Sora responds, clearly amused at the effect he has on his captive.

Unlike Vanitas, he's still fully dressed in his casual clothes, and the way he lounges back with his hands behind his head as if he's got all day? Well, Vanitas supposes it could fool anyone who wasn't already well-versed in the signs of perfectly-restrained desire. Dilated pupils, tapping fingers, tension practically radiating off him in waves. Yeah, he might be amused but the illusion of swagger--of indolent nonchalance--is thin. Vanitas doesn't usually  _ do _ intimidated, but for Sora, he has to make an exception.

Vanitas swallows and finds his voice again. "What?"

"I didn't ask for your  _ favourite _ word, Van. I asked for your  _ safeword." _

Right. Safeword. That's important. More important, apparently, than the anticipation blushing in heated, tingling bursts across the surface of Vanitas's skin, scored through with the stark white of the rope. More important, probably, than the hot, aching need coursing through his core with an unfamiliar keenness. More important than the sweat starting to dampen his hair and stick it to the side of his face before anything's even happened.

He doesn't want it to be more important, but it is.

"Uh." He clears his throat. "Master."

"Good! You do remember."

The light-hearted teasing is overlaid with tones of genuine approval and Vanitas grits his teeth as the praise washes over him and coaxes him into relaxing, muscles loosening as he leans into his bonds, lets them hold him up instead of his own ramrod-straight back. He's still embarrassed at the efficacy of  _ praise,  _ of all things, on his hard-won composure.

Sora relaxes, too, out of his faux-relaxed posture, and tilts his head in a way that would be endearing in any other context. His voice is gentle when he speaks again. "And you remember why?"

Vanitas nods, but doesn't elaborate. Sora answers for him.

"Because that's something I would never, ever make you call me. Not in a million years."

Vanitas nods again.

"And if you ever use it accidentally, I'll know I've gone too far."

Vanitas still doesn't know what to think about that. He doesn't quite understand it, but he doesn't figure he needs to. He nods anyway, a third time. Sora looks satisfied and turns to the table he set up. Vanitas can't quite see up onto it and tries not to grumble.

He can guess what's up there, anyway. Whips, paddles, pain stuff. He does like a little pain with his pleasure, always has. He wonders how far past that "little" Sora's planning on pushing him today. How much does Sora like to inflict pain of this kind? To the point of tears? Further? Screams, maybe? How much will he ask Vanitas to take? How much will Vanitas  _ want _ to take?

He feels the trust, underneath every other sensation, stronger than the arousal he didn't expect to be so strong just from all this. Even stronger than the adrenaline. It's something bright and calming, pulsing softly and unobtrusively in his chest. He wrinkles his nose in distaste. It's almost like he  _ wants _ to be here, trussed up like this for someone else's pleasure, awaiting something he may not enjoy just because it's Sora. It's like the longer this goes on, the more he likes being helpless.

What gives? It's just supposed to be an experiment. Him trying something new, something that Sora likes a lot. He didn't think  _ he'd _ like it this much, too.

They're in his own bedroom, barely recognisable with how much Sora completely turned it on its head, furniture moved to the edges, entrances locked down with inhibiting magic--the kind he'd honestly expected when they first brought him here, but never encountered until now. It doesn't make him nervous, though, even a bit.

When Sora turns back to Vanitas, he's holding a strip of black cloth in one hand and in the other, a chain. A thin one. A necklace chain. Sora's necklace chain, silver crown and everything. Vanitas hadn't even noticed Sora taking it off. He blinks.

_ Sora's necklace? _

In the space of a moment, Vanitas realises that Sora could have blindfolded him the whole time--he means for Vanitas to see the necklace, to see everything up until now. He wonders why. He doesn't know for sure what's coming next, but he can't help jumping to the obvious conclusion. He lets out a soft breath as he feels something clench in his chest.

For one moment, Sora stands towering over his bound form. And then he kneels, too. If Vanitas was still posturing, he might have said something sarcastic to mask his surprise, or even turned that surprise into a sarcasm of its own. In fact, he could be asking all kinds of things anyway. As it is, the understanding that's passed between them stays his tongue.

The sunset rays filter through the shuttered windows and it casts Sora's face in a more forgiving light than the lamp on the wall: more than just power, intensity, desire. There's fondness. The dominance hasn't gone, exactly, but it's no longer as overpowering. Instead, there's a sense of care and reverence.

There's still dominance, in the mere fact that Vanitas is tied down and Sora has the privilege to choose to kneel next to him or not. Sora lets the fabric drop onto the soft rug next to their not-quite-touching knees.

"This first," he says with a smile, holding up both ends of the chain.

It takes until the cold line of metal forms a full circle around Vanitas's neck and Sora's pulled his hands back again for Vanitas to finally verbalise the simple word. "Why?"

The shocking chill against his heated skin lasts just a moment and then another moment more where the thicker pendant lay before it warms to the same temperature. Virtually unnoticeable, but he still feels it, feels the weight of the very idea of it. It's the only thing he's wearing aside from rope. Sora reaches out to brush a hand through Vanitas's hair as he answers.

"Because it's mine. It's a gift of protection."

Sora's fingers feel divine smoothing along Vanitas's scalp, but even that longed-for touch, the tingles it sends down his neck and out to his arms, even the sharp contrast between that gentleness and the severity of his bonds can't distract him from Sora's words right now.

"What--why do I need protection?"

"You don't," Sora answers a little too fast, his mouth quirking up like he anticipated Vanitas's question. People really underestimate how smug Sora can be sometimes. "But you think you do. You've never stopped thinking you do. And that's alright. Now you have it." Sora stops when his hand reaches the back of Vanitas's head and he pulls him in for a barely-there kiss to his forehead. "It means that you're important." He presses another light kiss to Vanitas's cheek and Vanitas leans into it this time. "It means that you're precious."

His lips move to Vanitas's and for the first time in their admittedly short relationship, Vanitas lets Sora control the kiss. It's brief, but firm, and he feels himself melt even further, hindered only by the tight knots restricting his motion.

Precious. Huh.

Sora drops his hand but stays just as close to Vanitas, eyes turned stormy with intent in the wake of the kiss. "Tonight isn't about my pleasure. It's about yours."

The mental image of chains and whips and canes and assorted torture devices gets blurry in Vanitas's head. If it's not about Sora using him, but Sora's still calling the shots, what is he going to even do to Vanitas?

"It's about trust," Sora continues, still close enough that Vanitas can feel breath just touching his lips. "And safety. You wear my necklace, and you know you're safe. Because you're mine."

Vanitas gasps as a shiver shoots down his spine. And Sora's wicked, triumphant grin is the last thing he sees before the blindfold slips over his eyes.

The darkness is followed by another kiss, a little more searing, stealing the breath from Vanitas a mere second later as if Sora's trying to prove he's still there. A moan is ripped out of him as the kiss goes deeper and Sora backs up his words with nothing more than insistent lips and a hand to either side of Vanitas's head.

That small pulse of light, that feeling of trust blossoms out of Vanitas's chest and blankets him in warmth. He'd be tempted to deny it, to think that surely this isn't happening, but he's so fully grounded in reality by every sensation, down to the soft chafing of ropes against his forearms and ankles, that he just can't. Almost surprisingly, ironically, his surprise fades out into acceptance with each new thrust of Sora's tongue against his. The more Sora takes, the more he wants him to take.

Nothing that's happening tonight is going to make any fucking sense before it happens, he realises. But--whatever. Maybe that's okay. Maybe Vanitas is okay.

As the kiss continues, he loses even that much coherency. Because if he's okay, then he's definitely turned on, and his dick makes its needs very insistently known. Vanitas is a groaning puddle of want when Sora lets up, panting through swollen lips. He opens his eyes, having closed them on instinct, only to remember that he's blindfolded.

There's a greater emptiness in the absence of Sora's touch when he pulls away than there was before Sora touched him to begin with. He doesn't bother holding in a mild scowl and he knows Sora's watching him from the way he laughs at it.

"One sec." Sora's voice is a little ragged, but he sounds more put-together than Vanitas feels.

Even suffused with calm anticipation sitting twin to the boiling arousal, Vanitas still instinctively tries to track what Sora's doing--a rustling sound in front of him, cloth on cloth and then bare feet on wood, the drag of a table leg, cloth on cloth again as Sora puts something down where he'd been kneeling.  _ Thunk. _ Everything sounds slightly louder than normal.

He doesn't have much time to wonder what's on the ground; Sora grabs his shoulder and gently maneuvers him down face-first into his own pillow. This position, with his legs still on the floor from ankle to knee, puts his ass straight up into the air, but his legs closed tightly, and he suddenly gets why Sora tied him up this way. He somehow feels more exposed than if his legs were spread lewdly open.

Sora has complete access to him, in spite of the fact that his legs are still bound together at the ankles. He can move Vanitas around without worrying about his limbs or his interference at all, like he's on a hinge.

"It's not the most comfortable, I'm sure, but just bear with me for a bit, okay?"

Vanitas huffs, warming the cloth of the pillow against his cheek. "Yeah, okay." Uncomfortable? Not really. Vanitas's arms are behind his back but he can still breathe, his head turned to the side. It's really not the most uncomfortable position he's ever been in. It's not even the most uncomfortable position he's ever been fucked in.

He thinks about Sora taking him like this--fuck, that'll be tight, at this angle, legs closed. The thought makes his cock twitch where it hangs down under him, full and probably leaking by now. Vanitas's breath rasps louder against the fabric of his pillowcase and fills his awareness for a second before it's stolen away again by hands on his ass, caressing a little too lightly before spreading him open. Vanitas moans, shamelessly vocal as usual.

"The point of all this isn't about the pleasure your body can give me, or the pleasure my body can give you," Sora says from behind him.

Pfft, has he been hanging out with Naminé again? Vanitas lets it slide, though, when his cryptic nonsense words are accompanied by the expected sensation of dripping lube. ...And a second later, the unexpected texture of something too cool and smooth to be a finger pressing up against his opening.

"This is about the pleasure that can be extracted from your body all on its own."

Vanitas flinches, but a practised reflex keeps him from tightening up while something is pushing its way inside him. And push it does, firm and unyielding in Sora's steady and unrelenting hand.

It starts out stretching him in a familiar way, but quickly feels different. Where Vanitas is used to the sudden burn and gradual tapering off with each new finger, this thing doesn't come in manageable pieces.

The burn is gradual but constant, growing to a steady blaze--never easing up, never plateauing, stretching him further and further open, getting more intense with every second that it layers on before he can possibly adjust. It isn't even an unbearable pain, and it's not that he's not well-lubed, it's just--just so much. And it doesn't stop.

He'd almost call it too much except that the burn is spreading out, reaching every inch of him, consuming him, and everywhere it lights him on fire it zings back down to his straining cock and it's  _ good. _

"Fuck." It's so different than being fucked, and Sora knows exactly how hard to go so he can keep him strung along, opening him up perfectly without backing up or easing off, without twisting or shifting. "What the fuck is--?" he finally manages to get out.

"It's a plug." If Sora's surprised that Vanitas doesn't know, he isn't showing it. "At its widest it's just bigger than my cock--"

"Bigger?" he rasps.

"And where it'll rest inside and hold you open, it's just smaller than it," Sora continues as if Vanitas hadn't interrupted him at all.

Vanitas can picture the object; he's seen them before, but he never gave them much thought. Now it's the only thing he can think about. Another fraction of an inch feels like another mile. Every whine at the unfamiliar sensation is halted in the back of Vanitas's throat by Sora's other hand comfortingly squeezing and caressing at his hip.

Fuck, he doesn't think he could come like this but he's closer than he has any right to be this soon into the night.

Sora murmurs soft praise and encouragement in response to Vanitas's groans as he works the plug steadily, unwaveringly into him, his voice a soothing counterpart to the sting and stretch. Sora could stop at any time; he could give Vanitas a break, he could work him up to this more slowly, with a thrusting, in-out motion. But he doesn't, and he won't. Vanitas knows he won't stop--won't  _ be  _ stopped--until it's all the way in, and for some reason that knowledge sends coiling fire to his gut.

"Almost there," Sora updates Vanitas with a firm squeeze to his thigh. Is that supposed to be comforting? Or is Sora just amused? Both, maybe? It's hard to track.

All Vanitas can do in response is mumble a vague affirmative, but he doesn't think Sora expects much talking out of him at this point, anyway. His usual sass is on hold for the night, but more and more lately, with Sora at least, that's okay. Apparently there are more sides to him than snark and posturing. There's...whatever this is, for a start.

The sensation when the plug pops all the way in is like nothing Vanitas has quite felt before. A brief flash of pain as Sora forces him open past the widest part and then before he even has time to make more than a squeak, it's over. There's a residual burn, a pleasant ache, and--he clenches instinctively around the plug and moans as the heat builds in him a little hotter. Being held open like this is only a little different than being fucked open, but he feels so much more full.

"There you, go, Van," Sora's voice cuts through his thoughts, affectionate and caring and definitely affected by the state of his lover. But he'd said this wasn't about his pleasure, and if there's anyone good at self-denial, it's Sora. Vanitas should know--he's the one who'd helped Sora learn how to completely let loose to begin with.

His hands are warm on Vanitas's bare shoulders, the slight smell of his shampoo brushing against Van's heightened senses as the pillow falls away.

"Let's get you upright again."

The world spins a little, with no visuals for Vanitas to orient himself with, but Sora's grip is a steadying force and when he settles him back, the plug seats into him further.

"Aahh!" He can't stop himself from crying out in surprise when it starts vibrating at the same moment the base rests perfectly on his heels, applying a steady buzzing pressure, and at this angle it digs almost perfectly into his prostate. He twitches and tries to jerk away but he can't move. "Fuck!"

This time, Sora's definitely chuckling. Right in his ear. Darkly.  _ Fuck. _

Vanitas tries not to squirm as it borders on too much and zips and zings of pleasure to his cock become consuming arcs of ice and fire. His lips feel chapped, and he realises he's been biting them. He licks them once before another wave of heat pulses through him.

He can't tell if he's close to coming or not--he can't tell anything, right now. All he can do is float; Sora's hands are gone and in their absence Vanitas feels suddenly adrift. That's all it takes for the whole world to spin away, to coalesce down to a swirling dark fog shot through with fireworks of pure bliss.

The vibrating; the fullness; the gnawing ache and raw texture of the ropes restraining him as they dig into his muscles, never letting him go, holding him  _ safe _ in this free-fall; the incapacity to move, to see, to do anything but feel and whine; the knowledge that his pleasure, his pain, his everything is in Sora's hands--it's so good, it's almost too good.

"Fuck! Sora--" he's cut off with a quick kiss.

A softer, more understanding laugh. A whisper. "It's okay, babe. I've got you. I know what you need. All you gotta do is feel." The words barely have meaning but Sora's hand in his hair, smoothing and burying and gripping, is all the grounding Vanitas needs to focus past the sensations and return to his body.

He thinks Sora's kneeling in front of him again. "Just one more thing, Van." Sora's words sound distant, in spite of how close he is, but it sounds like a command tone and in spite of his rebellious nature, Vanitas tries to listen. "Open your mouth for me."

Something nudges at his lips and for a second he assumes it's Sora's cock. Without needing to think, without protest, lost in sensation, he licks his lips to ease the way and opens his mouth to let it in; somewhere in the back of his head, Vanitas is still waiting for the part of this where he's made to pleasure his lover. But no, Sora's still dressed, and kneeling in front of him, as far as he knows.

The texture hits him--some kind of soft, solid plastic, covered in ridges like veins. Tasteless, but that doesn't even matter as the object fills his mouth in an all-too-familiar way. It must be a dildo, with a shape like that, though Vanitas has never had cause to put one in his mouth before.

He makes a sound of muffled surprise. A question flutters through the back of Vanitas's mind and then right back out again as Sora shifts forward. No questions. No space in his head for them anymore. The vibrator in his ass is taking up too much of his attention, the new sensations bursting in his mouth fighting for the rest.

"God, you're beautiful, Vani. Wish you could see yourself like this." The whisper trails off into a groan and Vanitas feels Sora cradling the back of his head, keeping the pressure of the dick in his mouth firm.

Sora's so close to him that Vanitas can feel ragged breaths along his brow, nearly in time with his own laboured breathing through his nose. Sora's all but holding him now as he fucks Vanitas's mouth shallowly with the toy, gently coaxes his head back slightly until it rests in his other hand, and-- _ oh. _

The dildo nudges the back of Vanitas's throat just once before withdrawing, then pushing back into him all over again at a steady pace and he groans at the feeling.

"See? This isn't about me, or anyone else--this is about the fact that you like having something in your mouth," Sora murmurs, like he can't stay silent in the face of Vanitas so thoroughly undone for him. "You  _ like _ the way it feels to be stuffed full like this." Vanitas whimpers his agreement. "You like--" Sora hisses in surprised pleasure as Vanitas swallows around the plastic cock unnecessarily, habitually, because he wants to, just to feel it that much tighter--"you  _ really _ like choking on dick. And with this, there's nothing you need to do about it. Only feel. "

Vanitas doesn't register most of the words but he accepts them. Accepts the dildo pressing against his throat, just barely avoiding his gag reflex, holding his jaw open with every spit-slick thrust. Accepts his head tilted back, so he's fully leaning into Sora's strength. Accepts his position of restraint, his immobility, the lines of rope digging into him. Accepts Sora's hot breaths on his sensitised skin, punctuated by humming in answer to his own muffled whines. Accepts the vibrating plug still buried inside him, underneath him, tucked out of reach but still astoundingly present like it's at the very core of him. It's perfect. It's everything. A person couldn't live like this, feeling this all the time, but in this moment he'd be willing to try.

"All you gotta do is let go."

Vanitas doesn't even hear the whispered encouragement at first. It hits him just as his climax does, slamming into him suddenly and intensely and forcing a choked, garbled cry out of him. Every muscle tenses as he comes, some kind of implosion in the blindfolded darkness making him see stars.

Convulsing and squirming, Vanitas barely notices when the dick in his mouth vanishes, when the vibrations stop, when the ropes are magicked away from his groaning, gasping form as he comes down from the high as a melted puddle in Sora's arms.

The static in his ears clears away and is replaced by Sora's smug, fond, praise-murmuring voice. He lets himself float on it for awhile. His limbs are too much comprised of jelly for him to make good on his sudden freedom, anyway, but for once in his life he doesn't feel the need. He's safe. Talk about a mind-fuck.

Instead, he lets himself be maneuvered onto the pillow from earlier, no longer face down. This time, Sora's limbs wrap around him like vines and he relishes the closeness in a way he often doesn't.

As soon as he tries to imagine Sora's face based on the pattern of his breathing, Vanitas realises he probably doesn't have a blindfold on anymore. He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly as the world comes back into focus. He gets why the windows were shuttered, now; it's bright as hell in here, after that much darkness, even with most of the lights off. As his eyes adjust, he meets Sora's gaze, stark blue on the pillow next to him, no less intense than before.

Vanitas doesn't try to stop the full-body shudder that takes him. But the intensity is accompanied by a cheerful grin. He can't help but smile lazily back.

"What'd you think?"

"I--" what  _ does _ Vanitas think? He thinks all his overwhelm, his alertness, his careful facades are tucked away behind an overriding calm, a sense of--of safety. Unlike anything he thinks he's ever deserved before. He thinks he can't possibly have words for that right now. He thinks he may never be able to say them out loud even if he did. "I believe you," he finally manages in a hoarse whisper.

Sora had made lofty claims and Vanitas hadn't believed him, but sex was sex so he hadn't cared. Much. He'd do anything once, for Sora. But...it'd all come true. Sora nods, like that's enough.

"You didn't say much," he comments. Arrogance. Vanitas can't deny him that, but still he huffs, his throat raw and voice scratchy.

"What'd you expect, a rousing speech?"

Sora snorts a laugh and runs a hand tenderly down Vanitas's arm, rubbing his thumb across the imprints from the rope. "How do you feel?"

Vanitas takes stock of himself; his body is full of various aches and pings, even in the twinkling aftermath of so much exhausting pleasure. He loves every twinge. "Good."

"Yeah? Even with the plug still in?"

Oh. Huh. He hadn't even noticed. He blinks and Sora's smirk broadens.

"Want me to take it out now?"

Vanitas closes his eyes, but too late. He knows Sora knows the truth anyway. He  _ likes it. _

"...It can stay."

"Okay," Sora's voice isn't teasing anymore, just affable. "For now. While you rest."

They fall into a comfortable silence and Vanitas lets himself drift. Sora snuggles closer and his breathing starts to even out as Vanitas's does, the line of warmth between them a comfort in the slowly cooling room.

Through the haze, Vanitas realises Sora's probably hard as fucking steel after everything. Well, that's his problem. Sora kept saying that tonight wasn't about his own pleasure, and Vanitas isn't about to argue with his right to be a masochist. Sora presses a few stray kisses to Vanitas's forehead, more affectionate than usual, but he doesn't mind. He's never felt so...relaxed. All he wants to do is sleep. Which is funny, because he usually hates sleeping.

One more thing occurs to him, though, as he shifts and feels the drag against the side of his neck, and he hauls himself protestingly back closer to consciousness.

"Necklace?" he manages to mumble. That is something he's willing to give up right now if Sora needs it back.

"Hm, cute how you think you're not still mine just because the scene ended," Sora whispers cheekily. "A gift is a gift."

Vanitas snorts and feels like he should have something to say in response to that, but he can't find the words anymore. So, curled up safe, he sleeps.


End file.
